


Day 1: Duty / Desire

by GemmaRose



Series: Ratchet Week [1]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Decepticon Ratchet, M/M, The Transformers: Autocracy (IDW)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:21:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24353539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GemmaRose/pseuds/GemmaRose
Summary: Ratchet never wanted war, but if Optimus insists on propping up the remnants of the Senate's rule instead of talking things out like a reasonable mech... well, Megatron has made it plenty clear what he intends to do with the old guard.
Relationships: Drift | Deadlock/Megatron/Ratchet
Series: Ratchet Week [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1758271
Comments: 5
Kudos: 50





	Day 1: Duty / Desire

**Author's Note:**

> Heavily inspired by [this art](https://orangesky-cybertron.tumblr.com/post/188019006910/).

Ratchet cursed under his breath as his comm rang _again_. He could count on one hand the number of mechs who could bypass his ‘I’m busy call me back later’ filter, and the rest of High Command was in a meeting which left only one mech it could be. One mech who was supposed to be _dead_ , after turning on Megatron and trying to kill him.

::Orion, if you’re comming me to ask for help-::

::Optimus.:: his friend interrupted him, tagging the new designation with subglyphs of authority Ratchet had only ever seen applied to Primes. ::Ratchet, listen. We both know Megatron is not the mech to lead Cybertron.::

::I have patients to tend to, Orion.:: Ratchet fired back, casting a critical optic over the mediberths. Everyone was stable, maybe he could spare a klik to talk to his old friend. At least, he could stay on comms until he was done tidying up. ::What do you want?::

::Fine.:: Orion sighed. ::Ratchet, I want you to leave the Decepticons.::

::No.:: he snapped, reflexive and absolute, hands tightening around a bottle of sanitizer. ::The Senate may have thrown me out of Iacon, but I’m still a medic. I won’t betray my oaths.::

::I’m not asking you to stop being a medic.:: Orion replied, subglyphs of placation so thick they made Ratchet’s plating crawl. ::I’m just saying you don’t belong with-::

::With what?:: Ratchet growled, all but slamming the sanitizer into its spot on the shelf. He’d heard all manner of names hurled at them, largely by mechs of or near Orion’s social standing. The only question now was which one his old friend would think he found least offensive, applied to himself and those in his care.

::With them.:: Optimus said, the word free of subglyphs, a simple statement of fact. ::You are not a Decepticon, Ratchet. You were the Prime’s medic once, I’m asking you to be so again. Pharma is skilled, but he’s not you.::

::We ended the line of Primes.:: Ratchet frowned, unclenching his fist from around the sanitizer and grabbing the next thing to hand. His free hand lifted to rub his badge, as if he could soothe the ache beneath where its material had been excised from his spark casing.

::The corrupt one, yes.:: Orion agreed. He sounded tired, which made sense considering the wounds Megatron claimed to have inflicted on him. Assuming Pharma had somehow gotten down to him and patched him up, he’d still need at least a deca-cycle of berthrest. ::Ratchet, I found the Matrix. It- it saved me, reformatted my frame. I am Optimus Prime.::

Ratchet only barely bit back a laugh, hanging the wrench in its spot and returning to the messy counter. ::You don’t even believe in the Matrix.::

::No, I don’t.:: Orion- Optimus now, he supposed- agreed solemnly. ::But the people of Cybertron do. They will follow me, and I will not allow one set of tyrants to be replaced by another.::

::Megatron isn’t a tyrant.:: Ratchet slammed his hands on the counter, glaring at the wall of cabinets in front of him and wishing he could see his old friend in the metal for this conversation.

::He’s ruling by fear.::

::Because the people are still loyal to the Senate.:: Ratchet gripped the edge of the counter, shuttering his optics. ::It’s just growing pains, Optimus. Megatron has plans, we’re going to fix this.::

::Ratchet, old friend, please.:: Optimus pleaded. ::Come meet me. Speak to me, face to face. See what has become of our world and tell me then that Megatron is a sane and rational mech.::

Ratchet ground his denta, optic shutters pressing together so hard they ached. He wanted to believe that Optimus spoke in good faith, that they both wanted what was best for Cybertron, but... Orion had been a servant of the Senate, had arrested mechs for having nowhere to recharge but on the streets of Rodion. Orion had never come to see him, after he was forced out of the hospitals to operate solely in his clinic. Had urged him to reconsider, when Ratchet said he’d sooner fight in the pits himself than stake his clinic on the charity of one of the upper caste who cast him out for daring to treat guttermechs and Empties with the same care he did senators.

Orion had never understood, and Optimus didn’t either, but that didn’t mean Megatron couldn’t convince him. Megatron was good at that. ::Come to Iacon.::

::Ratchet, Megatron already tried to murder me once. He would’ve succeeded, if not for the Matrix.::

::He listens to me.:: Ratchet assured Optimus. ::Come to the Citadel, and I can guarantee your safety. If you want what’s best for this planet, the two of you can come to an agreement.::

::He will not listen to reason, Ratchet.:: Optimus argued. ::He murdered Zeta, and Sentinel.::

Ratchet bit his glossa, bending forward and pressing his helm against the cabinets. His spark ached, the raw edge of the incision in its casing throbbing with every flare of the corona. ::Optimus, please.:: his fingers trembled against the countertop, fans clicking on and back off in a rapid cycle. ::Don’t force me to choose.::

“Ratchet?” Deadlock’s voice was low, but it carried. Ratchet held up a hand, gesturing to his audials, and only faintly heard his partner crossing the room towards him.

::I am afraid you will have to, old friend.:: Optimus said solemnly, and cut the connection. Ratchet sagged, and Deadlock’s arms were immediately around him, pulling him close to the speedster’s slighter frame.

“Who was that?” he asked, field pressing _concern protection urgency_ against his. “Do I need to shoot someone?”

“No.” Ratchet shook his helm, biting back a smile. “Just... a mech I thought I knew, once.”

“Well, Megatron will be out of his meeting soon.” Deadlock pulled back to arm’s length with a roguish grin. “And there’s nothing here you can’t leave to the nurse, so what do you say we go remind our Lord that ruling shouldn’t be all meetings and stress?”

“Mm, help me clean up first and I’ll think about it.” he teased, pulling Deadlock in for a quick kiss on the cheek. Orion, Optimus, whatever he called himself now, was wrong. He belonged here, in his medbay with his patients, in the arms of the mech he’d saved, both of them in the berth of the mech who’d saved him. His once-friend would either see sense or be eliminated alongside the rest of the dregs of the old guard, and whichever came to pass Ratchet would be here to put his idiots back together again after.

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies to any not-logged-in readers, but due to an ex who refuses to leave me alone I have had to disable anon comments. Kudos are still open though, and if you want to scream (or would like me to write a fic for you) come check me out on Pillowfort! No account required to get my discord, and I'm always happy to chat. [[Link](https://www.pillowfort.social/GemmaRose)]


End file.
